


#10

by hhopp



Series: Hhopp's Destiel Angst-a-Thon [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, But only a little, Kid Castiel (Supernatural), Kid Castiel/Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, Kidfic, fluffy end, kid pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:05:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhopp/pseuds/hhopp
Summary: "Oh God, you're bleeding."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This one's actually based on a childhood memory but I made it gayer.

          “Why won’t the freaking bottle open?” Dean kept wrenching at the green cap, to no avail. Sam had asked for a glass of apple juice, but the bottle was practically welded shut, and nobody was able to get it open.

         “What if you used something else to crack it open?” Cas mused. “You know, for leverage.” Dean looked up at him and nodded.

         “Yeah. That works.” He clapped him on the shoulder as he went back to the kitchen, rummaging around for something suitable, and came back with a knife.

         Cas warned Sam away a couple of feet as Dean stuck the knife under the plastic ring. He watched as he tried sawing it apart, prying off the lid, and even stabbing through the side of the bottle. He was about to step in when the knife slipped. Yeah, this was definitely a bad idea.

         “Sam, wait upstairs for a few minutes,” he said over Dean’s curse— he had a really dirty mouth for an eleven year old. Sam scrambled out of the kitchen and into the foyer. “Let me see.” Dean stuck his hand out, revealing a long gash across his palm. “Oh God, you’re bleeding.” _Brilliant observation, Castiel_.

         “Should I call mom?” Sam called.

         Mrs. Winchester had left for the afternoon to go to an exhibit opening at the local art museum. Cas had been left in charge, seeing as he was 13 and the oldest. (Dean thought it was unfair, seeing as he was the oldest who actually lived here, but Mary told him that he’d have to prove himself responsible enough to run the house before she’d change her mind.) Being left home alone together was a new privilege for the trio, and nobody wanted to spoil it.

         “No, we can handle it. Where are the bandaids?”

         “Under the bathroom sink. I’ll get them.”

         Dean sat back in his seat and glared at the apple juice bottle as Cas played nurse. He absolutely did not think about holding Dean’s hand under different circumstances— boys weren’t supposed to feel that way about other boys, right?

         “Thanks, Cas,” he grumbled.

         “You’re welcome.” He smiled at Dean and packed up the first aid stuff. Sam dropped into the chair next to his brother, looking over Cas’ handiwork.

         “You want me to kiss it better?” he asked, the picture of an innocent little kid. Dean chuckled.

         “Sure, Sammy.” Cas looked away. “What, you wanna kiss it better too?”

         “N— no. No.” Dean side-eyed him.

         “Whatever you say, Cas.” God, he was an idiot. What was this? Why couldn’t he just be a normal kid and hang out with his best friend without getting all… butterfly-y? “Hey, let’s go watch a movie.”

         Sam scrambled from his seat to the living room, throwing himself onto the beanbag chair beside the couch and giggling. Dean laughed at him, and Cas knew without looking that it was the _what-a-dork, I-love-my-little-brother_ laugh, that his gums were showing and his stupid pretty eyes were catching the light. (He didn’t want to say that he really liked that laugh.)

         He slumped onto the couch as Dean put a DVD in the player. He was as far back into the corner as he could go, but that didn’t stop him from trying to dig himself further in between the cushions. Dean sat smack dab in the middle of the sofa as the opening credits started to roll.

         By five minutes in, he’d shuffled a little towards Cas. Twenty, and they were right beside one another. At the half hour mark, the taller of the two (stupid growth spurt. He was younger; he should be shorter) got up to make popcorn. Sam got bored and wandered off, and Dean settled back onto the couch, now pressed along Cas from shoulder to ankle.

         “You okay?”

         “Fine.” He dug out a handful of popcorn and crammed it in his mouth. Dean gave a put-upon sigh.

         “Is this about the kiss-it-better thing? I was just joking around.” Cas gestured at the TV. _You’re missing the movie_. He really didn’t want this line of questioning to continue. Dean fumbled for the remote and, upon finding it, jabbed at the pause button until the voices stopped. “But you can, if you want to?”

         Wait. Why was _he_ blushing?

         Cas grabbed his hand. He’d slapped on the biggest bandage he could find, and it didn’t quite fit around his palm— wrinkling and bubbling up in a few places and still not completely covering the bottom of the gash. Not breaking eye contact, he lifted it to his lips, brushed it against them, and lowered it back to their laps. Dean smiled and ducked his head, the blush growing until he looked sunburnt. The freckles really stood out.

         The next thing Cas knew, a mouth was pressed against his cheek. It lingered for a moment before pulling away, stretching back up into a smile.

         “Thanks for patching me up, Cas.”

         “Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Kudos, Comments, you know the drill if you've ever read an author's note before.


End file.
